The Wedding Date
by quorra laraex
Summary: AU. Desperate and heartbroken Maka Albarn pays a man to pretend to be her boyfriend and escort her to her ex fiancé's wedding. Shenanigans ensue. — Soul/Maka
1. Chapter 1

**The Wedding Date**

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The wedding is in seven days and she has a good twenty-four hours until she needs to get her ass at the airport and on her flight back to her hometown—which she had inconveniently been avoiding for approximately two years—_and_ has to find a date in the next day or so. She could do this, she says to herself every time she hears the tick of the clock. _Or_ she couldn't. She means, it's not like she _has_ to go. Patty had only been a sister of a friend, an acquaintance at most that she had shared a couple sleepovers with when she was younger. But she's twenty-one now. And Patty's engaged, to Maka's dismay, to the man that had ran her out of Death City, Nevada, all those years ago, unbeknownst to the bride.

Maka couldn't blame her. She probably hadn't known that this was the man of her dreams that utterly crushed her. _Whatever_, Maka thinks as she moisturizes her face lotion along the sides of her cheekbones. Not long after that, she's still in her bathrobe when she grabs her cell phone and dials the number on the ad of the fifth page of the newspaper.

After a couple of long rings which occupied the Albarn girl with biting at her nails nervously, a woman answers the phone. "Hello, so which man are you willing to hire?"

x

She meets him before they board the ten a.m. flight to Nevada. Except she doesn't know it's him, since the damned catalogue didn't have any pictures of the men on turn to work. Once the receptionist had answered the phone and asked her which man, Maka had desperately cut in _anyone who's talented, convincing enough to even sweep myself off my feet and make this event actually enjoyable—basically someone who'll do the job right and not screw things up_. And with that given, the Hire-Your-Date receptionist had given her a name and an address, where she had immediately mailed the plane ticket to.

And now she's struggling with the strap of her cheap backpack and pulling the hair that had awkwardly fallen out of her bun and was now annoying her as strands clung to the sides of her face, when she notices her luggage is gone and was replaced with an identical one, one that she noticed was different because of the little ribbon she tied on hers from her hair to prevent this exact problem from happening. _Dammit irony_.

He notices the girl practically throwing a fit over her "stolen" luggage. It was hard _not_ to notice her because how annoying could she get? And then he knows.

"Hey, Blondie!" a voice calls out somewhere behind her which temporarily hushed her rambling to the security guard. She turns around, eyes meeting a boy her age, maybe older, with snow white hair and piercing scarlet eyes, and… _her_ luggage! She gapes at him, pointing her finger at the suitcase he rolled as he trails toward her.

"Officer, arrest this man!" she stubbornly insists, grabbing her leather suitcase from him. She adds, more promptly, "He's a thief!"

"No need for that officer!" he interrupts pushing her away from the security just as the flight attendant calls their boarding number.

"_Don't touch me_!" she shuffles backwards on her feet and stumbles a bit from his urging. He quickly grabs his own luggage from her hand.

"I'm not sure what's up your ass, Blondie, but that was just an honest mistake." There's something in his voice that infuriates her because she knows he's right but she'd never been good at dealing with her arrogance, and _well_, she was _still _strung up about the wedding.

Still irritated, she scowls. "My name's not Blondie."

"I don't care, Angel." And with a devilish smirk he twirls the other direction, pulling his headphones from around his neck and to his ears as he pulls the twin on wheels toward the same plane she's boarding. "Can't miss my flight."

And with that stupid prick off her mind and her _own_ luggage rolling by her hand, anxiety eats at her again because soon—_soon_ she's going to meet the man she's going to spend a week with, paying him a large sum of her savings to act as if he was her lover in front of her family to make her ex fiancé jealous. God, she was desperate.

After checking her ticket with the flight attendant, Maka Albarn hurdles to first class where she's supposed to meet her boyfriend-to-be, who's seat should be right beside hers. It takes her a few of those breathing exercises she's learnt in her weekly yoga classes before the boy from earlier takes a seat beside her after fixing his carry-on in the cupboard.

He takes a good look at the view outside his window, then the rest of first class, before his eyes settle on the girl beside him—the girl that gave him the ticket for this flight, who_ hired_ him to be her boyfriend to impress her ex at a wedding for a damn _week_. There's a twitch in his lip that she catches, and a second after he cracks a laugh.

"_You're_ Soul Evans?" she asks, disgust slithering in her voice, glaring at him while she stands.

He stands as well, their chests barely an inch apart. He slouches so their eyes are level and their breaths are on each other when he huskily smirks, "Look, Angel, I'll be worth the while. It's my job."

For a second, she's taken aback because _yes_, (the receptionist on the phone had been supremely right) he's perfect for the job.

"I-It's Maka," she stutters a bit.

"Don't think I don't know your name," his lips are practically on hers, but he steps back afterward with a lopsided grin. He pushes the black headphones toward his ears again before sitting back into the cream cushion of his chair and leans backward, hands on his head in a position to relax as if nothing had just happened.

"Great," she mutters to herself as she finally releases the breath that had been trapped in her lungs.

She knows she's in for a long ride.

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**a/n: **so i recently saw The Wedding Date recently and the whole time i kept thinking of soul/maka so i just had to make a soul eater version of the movie! of course it's not going to be exactly the same, but the main plot will be very similar.

please tell me what you think so far!


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n:** finally! i've had this pre-written for awhile but i hadn't gotten around to uploading it. so sorry for the late update! thank you for those reviews, they really encourage me to keep going :')

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**The Wedding Date**

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Maka wakes up with an annoying gleam of sunlight streaking through her slightly open window, warming her eyes and drying the smudge of drool on her chin. Her hair is an absolute mess and her mascara had smudged due to her constant moving in her sleep. She turns her head to the seat beside her, groggily rubbing her orbs before meeting the lazy gaze of Soul Evans, her supposed boyfriend. He's slugging his jacket back on and gathering his things.

"Looks like you had a nice sleep."

She nods, uncomfortable, aware of what a rat's nest she must look like, before she sits upward and grabs a painkiller from a pouch in her backpack and practically inhales it.

When the plane lands, he follows her out and does that proper thing the masculine boyfriend _should_ do—offer to hold her bags; but she declines with her chin up, mumbling something about men not being the superior race, eyes searching for the nearest restroom. She gives him her things to watch, taking her backpack along when she makes her way toward the bathroom.

She comes back with her hair fixed, makeup redone and in a pea coat with a cell phone on her ear. When plunged back into the pocket of her jacket, she grabs her things and makes a quick introduction, trying to be more proper—failing, however, since they're both quickly moving through the crowd of people trying to get to a taxi.

"So I know you said you know my name, but I'll do a quick reminder," she continues to shove down his throat. "I'm Maka Albarn. Twenty-one. You're my boyfriend and we might as well make up some back story to this. We met at a coffee shop. You're a doctor."

"Alright, _ma'am_," he sarcastically drawls, shuffling into a halted taxi cab beside her. And then he's looking at her, for a long while, observing every inch of her as she pays the driver and gives him the address of her old house. She doesn't notice until after a few minutes had gone by. And at first, the idea that he had been actually checking her out crosses her mind, but is abruptly shot down right when she realizes what's going on, digging into her bag once again for her wallet.

"_Right_, right," she mutters under a breath, slipping an envelope which had his name sprawled on the front in loopy, neat cursive. "Six grand. Count it."

He doesn't.

"Count it."

"Why? I trust you."

The comment immediately shuts her up regarding the money. "Alright. Well there's a few basics about my family. They're crazy, and _not_ like in that they-drive-me-insane-but-I-still-love-them kind of way. No, it's not like that."

He snickers at her humor—at her charm.

x

Soul meets her father before he even has the time to walk up the pavement steps and reach the small patio before the front door. The red-haired man eyes the boy with uneven eyes. Soul feels the crack in his knuckles when their hands shake. Her mom is a different story, however. She looks somewhat like Maka, with the large green eyes and all. She's friendly and cheery, and by the grimacing tension between her and the father, Soul notices that they aren't on good terms.

He doesn't say anything. It isn't a part of his job.

He's inside now, and the house is small, cramped, kind of, but cozy nonetheless. There's a bunch of people here, lounging around in the living room or drinking champagne in the dining room. Eyes are all on him, and he needs to pretend he likes the attention. He had always been good at acting. He'd done it enough for his own family.

People make small talk with him easily, she notices. They're all girls. _Of course_. She doesn't mind though; she barely even _knows_ the guy.

"You look beautiful."

She whips around, meeting his electric golden gaze that she hadn't known she missed this much up until now, and the breath is knocked out of her. God please, don't let her face get red at a time like this. The Albarn shifts her focus downward, to his shiny, polished shoes. "I barely even had the chance to freshen up—"

"You're right. Beautiful doesn't cut it. You're a hot mess," he chuckles, and she joins with a familiar giggling he hadn't heard for two years.

"It's…" she hesitates. "It's been a long time, Kidd."

"_Um_ so let's _not_ talk to the dick who broke your heart and is marrying my sister!" a friendly voice chimes in, pushing Maka toward the kitchen and away from the man in front of her. She had been the only one who knew of this little mishaps that struggled into a love triangle, or so they were called. But she also could not choose sides, keeping everything she knew to herself. "So who's the hunk you shipped over from New York with you?" her old best friend Liz asked, handing her a tequila and a loose hug.

"Oh, y'know," she tries playing off cool. "My boyfriend."

She gives Maka a knowing look with those dazzling royal blue orbs of hers. She twirls a luscious long lock around her manicured finger as she gapes at the attractive city-boy, who was merely introducing himself to those who had begun a conversation with him. "Then why were you over there yappin' with your _ex_, when you got _him_? He's surely a nice piece of meat if I may say so myself."

"He's just…" Maka meets his crimson gaze on her, finishing with a smile, "…making himself at home."

x

"So… where should I place our luggage, ma'am?" Soul asks her mother, mainly because she had been the first parent he found in this party of a household, partially because he wasn't fond of the father just yet, and he wasn't particularly fond of him either.

"Please, call me Kami," the middle-aged woman replies leading him up the carpeted steps and down the corridor, Maka on their tail with her bags as well. She whispers to the duo, "I'm not as uptight as her father would have been on this. You get to share the room."

A bit horrified, Maka interrupts. But it was useless. "Um, mama…"

"Just thank me!" she sings, trailing back down the spiral stairs and to the gathering of friends at this welcome back party.

Soul smirks as Maka sighs. This meant sharing a single bed in the room of a sixteen year old girl. He can't help but crack a grin as he enters, seeing posters of teenage boy bands on her salmon pink walls. She hushes him, glaring at him, as if saying _if you utter a word, I'll slice your throat open_. He holds in his laughter.

x

It's when the very man she hired is unbuttoning his white collared button up when her eyes pop out. Just a little. Noticing her shift in gaze from his eyes down his chest and to the bed in between them, he decides to tease her a little, shrugging off his black pants and walking by her on his way to the bathroom in her room. He stops beside her, seeing the exact time her milky pale cheeks transcend into a tint of pink.

"Sexual acts are extra. Better pay up beforehand," he grins into her ear.

"N-no," Maka stammers. She prays she doesn't squeak. "The thought of engaging into intimate acts for money is repulsive."

He only looks at her.

"—to me, personally."

A brow arches.

"No offence."

And then there's a half smile on his face, his mouth is open and his hands are moving—motioning in a way that tells her he's found out the biggest mystery. She demands a simple _what_ with one of her soft, puckered pouts (that he didn't know whether had been intentional or not—probably not), and he decides she's adorable. Well, no, he had actually decided that once he had first met her. It was something about her eyes reminding him of Christmas morning. He shakes the thought off. He'd never tell her, anyway. Again, it wasn't a part of his job.

"_What_?" her hands are on her hips, which are defined perfectly in the dress she's wearing.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" he snidely purrs. His condescending smile irritating her to shreds.

"Am _not_!"

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure, you prick!" She almost chops him with a book at her bedside table, but he's quick enough to dodge her attack. He almost calls her a crazy bitch—_almost_.

Then she trots to the bathroom, like one of those superior, queen-like poodles, beating him to the punch as she rummages through the cabinets for her usual necessities. He rolls his eyes and sits himself on her bed, watching her as she rubs snow white lotion on her (reallyreally_really_) long legs. But, it isn't as if he's watching her for his personal satisfaction. He just needed to go to the bathroom—a hot shower called for him, that's all. She moisturizes her face last, peering at every angle of her face in the vanity mirror in front of her, and he notices this odd thing she does where she tiptoes when she's clearly tall enough.

"Is that just something you're used to in that house or are you reminiscing on your old ballet lessons?" She could have easily been a ballerina, with that small frame, tiny waist, strong physique, and those heaven-sent legs of hers.

Her emerald orbs flicker to him in the mirror, pondering about what he had just said before she plops her heel back down onto the marble floor of her bathroom. "I never took ballet," she tells him, attempting to shut the door with her foot, to break their gaze and source of connection. Before the door is able to click and the sight of him is gone, she hears him mutter under a breath, small smile intact.

"With legs like that, anyone would think otherwise."

He really is a curious one, she thinks to herself. And she's determined to find out just exactly who he is.

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